Freedom in Movement
by Taliya
Summary: Every now and then, Miyano Shiho needed to escape from the reality that was her life—and she found it in music and shoes of satin. Written for Poirot Café's Super Short Contest #15: Dance.


Detective Conan and Magic Kaito characters, settings, and ideas do not belong to me but to Aoyama Gōshō.

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Warnings: Angst—what else is new?

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Freedom in Movement

By Taliya

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Word Count: 849

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She carefully knotted the ribbons together, tucking the ends beneath the length wrapped around her ankle just behind her inner anklebone, and pressed her weight onto the ball of her foot. Too loose, and there would be no support, but too tight, and there would be no circulation to her toes. Nodding in satisfaction, she stood and grasped the barre with one hand as she stood, rising onto the platforms of her pointe shoes, testing them. The pale pink satin shimmered in the fluorescent lighting, and she studied the way the curve of the shanks emphasized the curve of her insteps in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, ignoring the pressure of her entire body weight on her toes as she accustomed herself to the discomfort—which would, with time and more dancing, transition into pain that she would ignore. Around her, the chatter of the other women and several men in the studio buzzed in her ears as she focused solely on stretching and warming up her feet.

She began by rolling through from flat to pointe to flat again in a series of relevés, repeating the process until her feet felt supple and ready. She moved on to faster rises to pointe with échappés, no longer bothering to roll through the balls of her feet, her pliés stretching out her Achilles tendons each time she came back down on her heels and bent her knees. She was careful to keep her knees in line with her feet, as improper ballet turnout almost always led to damaged knees and ankles.

Sweat rolled down the sides of her face, down her neck, down her chest and back—residuals from the hour and a half ballet class she had just completed. As the others packed their bags and left for the evening, she lingered behind, pulling on a practice tutu and adjusting the hook and eye closures around her waist and hips.

"You ready, Shiho?" The voice was that of an older woman's with a heavy Russian accent.

Seventeen-year-old Miyano Shiho gazed at her teacher and nodded. "Yes, Madame Krassovska." Shiho crossed the marley floor to up stage right and faced the back, waiting for the music to begin. As the delicate strains of the piano and cello intertwined in Camille Saint-Saën's _Le cygne_ , Shiho raised her arms to the side and began a slow bourrée to stage left. Her arms fluttered up and down in synchronous, fluid movements as she emulated the wings of a bird.

"Softer, Shiho, no bones."

The choreography she practiced was called _The Dying Swan_ , a somber, melancholy solo choreographed by Mikhail Fokine for the prima ballerina Anna Pavlova nearly a century ago. The piece followed the last moments of the life of a swan, and as Shiho drifted across the floor in quick, slight movements of her legs, she immersed herself in the role of the fallen bird, sympathizing deeply. And all the while, Madame Krassovska continued to give out directions to improve her artistry and technique.

"Straight leg in arabesque."

"Breathe music."

"Turn out front leg."

" _Feel_ it, Shiho, feel so much it _hurts_."

As she moved through the music, she wished she could become the swan she was trying to embody: so close to death—so close to _freedom_ —that it physically ached in her chest. And yet she knew with absolute certainty that freedom would be the one thing she would be eternally denied, for the Organization did _not_ take lightly to losing what they considered theirs. She knelt on the ground, stretching one leg back as she arched backwards with arms gracefully extended upwards.

She fleetingly wondered what life would have been like had she never been born into the Organization: would her parents still be alive? Would she have been able to audition at the Royal Ballet School in order to pursue her passion in ballet? All of these musings occurred in the farthest reaches of her mind, because in the here and now, Miyano Shiho was nothing more than a medium, a moving canvas by which Fokine had painted the movements across the stage to a background of interweaving notes.

She rose off the floor, her movements now weary with heavy limbs as the music reached a crescendo. Then, as the piano and cello slowed and softened, Shiho lowered herself to the floor once more, arms fluttering in a final attempt to fly before she laid herself flat on an extended leg and relaxed. As the last notes faded away, she remained on the ground though she sat up. Her chest heaved in exertion despite the slowness of the choreography, and her toes throbbed from nearly four minutes of constant pressure.

" _Beautiful_ , Shiho, I—you cry, Shiho?" Madame Krassovska asked softly.

Shiho's hand grazed a cheek, and she was surprised to find a tear. "I am," she admitted, astounded.

Madame Krassovska smiled gently. "Because you danced here," she said, pressing a hand to her chest, "in heart."

Shiho gazed at her instructor in understanding. She had cried because for those few, precious minutes, Miyano Shiho had felt utterly _free_.

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Author's Note: As dance is an integral part of my life, I only felt it fitting that I write something for this contest. To me, ballet, despite its technical rigidity, possesses a freedom of expression that I've found difficult to find in other mediums—writing included. For those of you curious enough to watch the piece I described, search for Uliana Lopatkina's version. The positions and movements described can be found by searching for American Ballet Theatre's Ballet Dictionary, which includes videos. Mikhail Fokine and Anna Pavlova were a chorographer and a ballerina, respectively, both of whom were known worldwide for their talents. Madame Krassovska is based off of Nathalie Krassovska, a dancer of the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo and the teacher of my current teacher. The Royal Ballet School is the feeder school for the Royal Ballet in London, UK. So much of my life has been dedicated to this beautiful art form—so much blood, sweat, and tears—along with a lot of painkillers and toe tape. Anyhow… I hope you enjoyed it.

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Completed: 29.08.2016


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